Jo Goodman (47 page)

Anderson Shaw's subtle salute was for Berkeley alone. He made the gesture with his eyes. "As you wish," he said, his tone grave and formal. Without a sideways glance he slid the card to the stranger on his right.

Berkeley's eyes shifted long enough to watch Joseph Allen decipher Anderson's scrawl. "Very well," she said, returning her attention to the palm in her hand. She measured her words carefully, as if pondering her answer even as she spoke it. "The play would be something of Shakespeare's."

Joe Allen slapped his thigh. "Damn me if she ain't got it right!" He realized belatedly that perhaps he had spoken out of turn. He sheepishly held up the card to the men standing behind him for additional confirmation. "Shakespeare wrote that, didn't he, fellas? Or was it the other gent? Something-Or-Other Jonson?"

"Aaah." Grey approached the table. "A scholarly conundrum. You've raised an interesting point, Joe, and one that would be better entertained elsewhere." He laid one hand lightly on Berkeley's bare shoulder. "Gentlemen, the Society for Literary Discourse and Enlightenment meets on Tuesday afternoons in Mrs. Richards's home on Powell Street. This establishment will continue to remain a gaming hall."

There was appreciative laughter all around. Joe Allen's cheeks reddened, and he drew back the card he held before someone could snatch it from him.

"Dare I hope there's a wager on the table?" Grey asked.

Art Madden raised his mug of beer to his lips. "Seems the stranger in our midst doesn't think much of Mrs. Janeway's talent."

Grey's eyes strayed to Anderson Shaw. "Is that right, sir?"

"Nick Lerner," Anderson said. He removed his hand from Berkeley's, stood, and extended it to Grey. "I'm afraid too much is being made of it. Didn't think I'd be stepping into a nest of hornets tonight. Your wife's talent is much respected here."

"So is my wife," Grey said without inflection. Belatedly, he took the hand that was held out to him, shook it, and then motioned Anderson to be seated again. "What was your challenge?"

"It's nothing," Berkeley said. To allay his fears, she reached up and patted the hand Grey still rested on her shoulder. The gesture appealed both absent and affectionate to others but she communicated her confidence to Grey. "Mr. Lerner is an actor. I'm to name his favorite play and role which he has been kind enough to write down and give to Joe. I've said I believe the play is one of Shakespeare's and Joe has confirmed it—more or less." Deep chuckles rumbled around the table as Joe Allen was put to another blush.

Grey did not join in the laughter. He was studying Anderson Shaw. "I have no gift for fortune-telling," he said. "But even I would have guessed Shakespeare. Isn't he every actor's favorite bard?"

Anderson nodded. "You would be in the right of it there. But he has a number of plays from which an actor can choose. Your wife has yet to choose mine."

Grey fished out a gold coin from his pocket and placed it on the table. "I think she can do it."

Anderson laughed. "The odds are always with the house, aren't they? Very well. I started this. I may as well be poorer for it." He extracted a matching gold piece from his vest and laid it beside Grey's. "You have your wager." He glanced at Joe Allen. "And you keep your silence." His gaze swiveled back to Berkeley. His polished chestnut eyes were expectant, mocking and daring her. "Mrs. Janeway?"

Berkeley took his hand again. She had no desire to draw out the drama. "The play is
The Taming of the Shrew,"
she said. "But your favorite role is from one of the tragedies. I believe you fancy yourself a credible Shylock in
The Merchant of Venice."
Berkeley knew even before Joe Allen started whooping and pounding the table that she had got it right. She scooped both coins from the table and gave them to Grey. They were properly his winnings. What she had won was Anderson's surprise.

He asked her about it later when he was waiting for her on the way to her room. "You must have thought I had forgotten you," Anderson said.

"It never once occurred to me," Berkeley said. "In some ways you're very predictable, Anderson."

"Predictability had nothing to do with how you managed that trick this evening. You couldn't have known what I would write on the card."

"I didn't."

"Then how was it done? I have no particular fondness for
The Shrew."

"And Richard III would be your role. Yes, I'm aware of that. But you gave the card to Joe Allen, and he moves his mouth when he reads."

In spite of himself Anderson Shaw laughed. "So simple as that, eh?"

Berkeley nodded. They had reached her suite. "I won't invite you inside," she said. "Say your piece, then go."

Anderson would not be hurried although he did look over his shoulder down the long hallway. "You have not inquired after Mr. Denison."

"I assumed he was in his room."

"He is. Pacing the floor, I'm certain. He hasn't half the patience I've shown." He thought Berkeley would comment, but she remained silent. "Do you have the earring?"

"Yes, but I'm not giving it to you. I'll put it in Mr. Denison's hand myself. What is his room number?"

"Three-oh-six. But not here. He's at the Palace. We considered it the wisest course of action following our first meeting."

"Garret doesn't want his brother to know he's here."

"That's correct. I suppose he has his reasons. Can you leave?"

"Not now. But tomorrow. Is that soon enough?"

"You're very eager to give over the earring. I wonder at your change of heart. Can you be so relieved to see the last of us?"

Berkeley ignored him. "And what is it you want, Anderson? You've spent this last week thinking about it. What will it take to be rid of you?"

"Clever girl. Haven't you guessed it by now?"

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "None of your games now. Of course I want you gone. You deserted me at the claim and left me to make my own way. Well, I have. And if I hadn't stumbled across Graham Denison, you would have never revealed that you were quite alive. You would have stayed with the Ducks in Sydney Town, where I imagine you've made your fair share of friends."

Anderson's hand snaked out and caught Berkeley's wrist. He held it tightly and would have enjoyed it more if she had struggled. He intended to leave bruises she would be forced to explain. "Do you know that if you hadn't returned to telling fortunes, I might never have found you? I'd heard of Grey Janeway but had no occasion to see him. The Ducks seemed to think he was better left alone. I believe the ruffians rather liked him, or at least they respected his power to retaliate. It was only when the rumor began of a certain young woman in his care who could tell a man about his past and divine his future that I became curious. Seeing that you had landed on your feet was only half as surprising as my first glimpse of the man who called himself Grey Janeway. I knew the truth immediately. I was not entirely certain you did though. From what I could learn it didn't appear you had contacted the Thornes. I regretted leaving you with the earring nonetheless."

Berkeley's fingers were numb from the pressure of Anderson's hand. "You left it with me because you could have never realized its true worth. It would have sold for a paltry sum in this city. You would have been better staked at the gaming tables if you had owned an orchard. At five dollars an apple you could have made the fortune you want." She twisted her wrist and felt the skin rub harshly against Anderson's palm.

He gave her no quarter. "Name it," she said. "Tell me quickly before someone comes and sees you here."

"Twenty thousand dollars."

Berkeley actually gasped. "You can't possibly believe I can get that kind of money for you."

"Why not? You're wearing half that much around your neck right now." Before she knew what he was about he stripped her of the diamond choker. "Room three-oh-six. At ten. You shouldn't be late, and you shouldn't come without the earring and the money." Anderson released her hand and walked away, satisfied with this evening's work. He left the hotel by the back stairs, oblivious to Annie Jack's severe scolding for mistaking her kitchen for a thoroughfare.

* * *

Nat Corbett was yanked onto his tiptoes by the powerful hand at the scruff of his neck. He yelped once before his shirt collar caught him around the throat and silenced him. Half-carried, half-dragged, he was deposited in front of Grey in the main gaming hall. The crowd had thinned, but there were still more than a hundred gamblers left to witness his humiliation. Nat felt the stares of every one of them.

Annie Jack stood facing Grey, arms akimbo, a severe frown on her face. To all appearances she was unmoved by Nat's whipped puppy expression. "Annie caught him sneakin' in her kitchen from the outside no mo' than a minute ago. That suggests to Annie that he also sneaked himself right out of here." She slapped her large palms together twice in a brisk handwashing gesture and declared herself free of further responsibility for young Nat's welfare.

Grey consulted his pocket watch. It was nearing one o'clock. His own frown was a less fearsome one than Annie's but clearly communicated that he was displeased. "We can't talk here," he said. "Come, we'll go upstairs. I don't have to carry you under my arm, do I?"

In answer, Nat hung his head and began to lead the way. At the top of the stairs he turned toward his own room. Grey put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"My suite," he said. Nat's stiffening and the fear that leaped into his eyes provided Grey with the information he sought. "This way." He turned Nat in the direction of his own quarters.

In the front room Grey indicated Nat should be seated. The boy chose the large chair by the fireplace and sat stiffly on the very edge. Grey felt his eyes on him as he moved about the room, first closing the door to the library, then while he poured himself a small drink at the sideboard. "Do you imagine I'm going to beat you?" Grey asked.

Of course it had occurred to him, but Nat wasn't certain it was a good idea to say so. "I'm hoping you won't, sir."

"Well, I won't. You can set that from your mind and concentrate on telling me the truth. And I
do
want to hear it from you, Nat."

Nat's eyes strayed involuntarily toward the door.

"She's another room away," Grey told him. "And sleeping. She retired more than an hour ago. You don't have to be worried that you'll be overheard." He paused, sipping his drink. "I take it your late-night excursion had something to do with her."

Nat squirmed in his seat but said nothing. His abject countenance spoke eloquently of his misery. He could not meet Grey's eyes.

Sighing, Grey sat on the settee opposite Nat. "Did she send you on some errand this evening? Is that it?"

"No!" Nat blurted. He sat back a little, surprising himself with the vehemence of his reply.

"But you slipped out of the hotel because of her." It was not strictly a question and Grey didn't expect an answer. He regarded Nat in silence for a moment, thinking back over the past week to things he had noticed but not really seen: how Nat kept Berkeley in his sights when even the most intrepid among them gave her a wide berth; how he often would appear at the door to their suite looking for Pandora; and how he sat in the shadows at the top of the stairs while the Phoenix filled with customers, his attention on the doors.

"We've all been watching her these days," Grey said at last. "But I think you've been the only one watching
out
for her."

Nat's small chest heaved with a shaky breath. His expression became marginally more hopeful.

"Listen to me, Nat." Grey rolled the crystal tumbler between his palms. "Whatever it is you've seen or know, it can't be your secret alone. Berkeley's in some sort of trouble, isn't she?" Grey watched Nat bite his lip. "Is she aware you know?"

A spot of blood appeared on Nat's lower lip as he bit down harder.

Grey swore softly. "She does know, doesn't she? And she's asked you not to say anything." And keeping the secret was clearly an agony for the boy. How could Berkeley have done that to him? Grey's mouth tightened as he felt his own anger taking form. It was not only that she had placed Nat in this untenable position but that she had refused to share any part of what was troubling her with him. No, that wasn't entirely true. She had shared all the emotion and none of the information. There was no betrayal of trust. There was simply no trust.

Grey finished his drink and put the tumbler aside. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his fingers clasped together. "Look at me, Nat," he said. His tone brooked no refusal. "I respect your promise to honor Berkeley's wishes. Only you can decide if your promise was extracted unfairly or given rashly, against your better judgment. I'm not going to conduct an inquisition. I am going to ask that you think carefully about this secret you're carrying for Berkeley and if you should be doing it at all."

Nat rubbed his kneecaps nervously, but he didn't look away from Grey's penetrating stare. He was remembering the blow Berkeley had taken seven days earlier. If he closed his eyes, he would have been able to see her stumbling backward from the force of it. She had been given the slap to assure his silence. His life had been threatened to make certain of hers. And now there was the baby to consider.

"She wouldn't have to know?" Nat said at last. "That I said anything, I mean."